Show Me the Long Road
by Illyria13
Summary: You are mine, he whispers into your ear and his voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You claw at your own skin in a desperate attempt to get him out even as you scream, I will never be yours. Spoilers for 5x03.


**Show Me the Long Road**

**By Illyria13**

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own. Enough said. Anything you recognize belongs to other people such as Eric Kripke, etc.

Spoilers: Episode tag to 5x03 "Free to Be You and Me"

AN: It's Halloween. I had to post something. I found this on my jump drive and realized it was never going to be a long story and decided to stop holding on to it… so here it is. I really hope you like it. The title is a lyric from "O Death" by Rising Appalachia.

Warnings: Suicidal thought/ideation and suicidal acts. Think that's about it.

/

Summary: _You are mine_, he whispers into your ear and his voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You claw at your own skin in a desperate attempt to get him out even as you scream _I will never be yours. _

/

_But what is this, that I can't see  
>with ice cold hands taking hold of me<em>

_When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,_  
><em>who will have mercy on your soul<em>

-Jen Titus, O Death (original artist Ralph Stanley)

/

You are damned, not because of what you've done, but because of what you will not do.

You will not bend. You will not break. You will not fall. These are all things that you have done your entire life and you are done with them. Done with always failing, done with letting down the people you love; done with trying to make things better only to destroy them further.

You will stand here forever, so close to the edge of ruin, unable to let go even as you dangle one foot off the precipice. But this is how you have always been, the way you will always be, damaged and twisted and condemned through every thought and every breath. You can beg for death, even scream for it, but it has always been just out of your reach.

Like Jess, your beautiful, sweet girl; she is there for you, constantly, smiling inside of your dreams and screaming inside of your nightmares, and when you are awake, she's there, too. She's in every glimpse of a street corner, every flash of a fire, and sometimes you think that she will never be at rest. Her bones were burned in the fire, your tears salted the earth, but still she lingers like a writhing phantom of remembrance and loss.

And sometimes…sometimes you wonder if you've damned her too.

But she was damned from the very beginning, dead from the moment she met you. And because you cannot let go, she will never let go of you. She will never forgive that you took what was never yours to take.

"_You took my life, Sam. How could you?" _

And even though you know it isn't her, even though you've spent the entire night with Lucifer whispering into the dark of the room, every fiber of your being wishes for it to be her. But it's not her, it can't be her, she's dead and buried and it hurts too much for her to be twisted in this way, twisted and used by the Devil.

It's yet another way you've failed her, and inwardly you scream as the form of the girl you loved is manipulated and used for Lucifer's pleasure. It is rape, a rape of the soul, because the words coming out of her mouth and the actions that she makes are not her own. It tears away at the goodness she had and the sweetness she was, because you know deep down that Jessica-your Jessica-could never be this cruel.

It is with relief that you turn and see Jessica fade away, the visage of Lucifer's current vessel bleeding through, and now you hope that she will go; go, and never return. You hope that she can find some peace, because there is none for you here. Lucifer continues to whisper, his words crawling across your skin in a lover's caress and you shudder.

_You are mine, Sam, mine forever. There is nowhere you can go that I cannot find you, no one who could ever hope to shelter you from my gaze. _

_Where is your God now?_

And finally, you snap. Every inch of resolve floods your brain and you know that this is it. This is your one hope, the only way you could ever salvage what little is left of your tarnished soul. But you have to do this. You have to succeed. You will not fail, not in this, because if you do, you know that you will do the unforgivable, the one cardinal sin that you could never be forgiven for. Your last act in this world is an act of redemption, an act of strength, and an act-one final act-of sheer despair.

You close your eyes and take a breath. You will die tonight, here in this motel room, alone with only the Devil to witness your demise. It is a prayer and an oath and a curse, a triumvirate of what you've been denied, of what you cannot keep, and what you always live.

_Don't do it. _

You run a knife across your wrists, blood spilling out in a torrent of red, only to watch it flow back into your veins.

You put a gun to your head, feel the bullet hit skull, cracking bone and tearing tissue all the way through, only to wake up in a pool of drying blood and brain matter.

Water is next, cool and blessedly silent under the surface. You feel free in its murky arms and it fills your lungs until everything fades to blessed darkness. And then you wake, gasping as your body fights for precious air in the stillness of the bathroom.

_Oh, Sam. Don't you see? This can never be._

You keep trying, over and over, as the sky fades to black to pink to blue outside the window, time passing without being kept, and you fail, over and over. Treacherous life breathes through you again and again, and you close your eyes in despair even as you keep going. Lucifer whispers in your ear _I will never let you go_ but you block it out, listening only to the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, desperate for the time when it stops and doesn't start again.

Because the Devil isn't perfect, and maybe, just maybe, he'll slip up, and the next time the blade crosses your wrists, you won't wake up. It's the last hope of an already dead man, but it's all that you have left, and you cling to it with all the strength in your blackened soul. You are not free, you will never be free, but you refuse to be another tool, another knife, another weapon against your brother because even though he wants you no longer, claims you as brother no longer, you still do. Despite his wishes, you can't let go. You could never let go.

You've never been able to let go of Dean. It's what's brought you here. It's what's pushed you to this place. It's what will always bring you wherever you are; drive you to do what you do. Your inability to let go of your last remaining family member has always been your undoing; yours and his and the entire world, all because you cannot _let go_. It's selfish and damaged and broken, but you've never been able to be anything else. You want your brother, you want the claim of _brother_, because it is all you have left, _he_ is all you have left.

Your phone buzzes incessantly on the table by the bed but you ignore it, too deep in your cycle of death and rebirth to break away from it. You must keep going. You cannot stop. If you do, you are finished, and there will be no saving you.

Unlike your brother, you've never had an angel on your shoulder. It's always been the Devil.

_I see you, Sammy. I see what you could be._

You wondered once why Azazel hadn't taken you when you were younger; why he hadn't had a demon possess you, control you, ride your body for years until you were broken inside, no longer screaming for your father or brother to save you. Wouldn't it have made his plan go so much smoother?

But you know the truth now, you've figured it out, and it's so clear that you wonder how it took you so long to realize it: Azazel needed it to be your choice, free and clear and utterly not coerced.

Because there is nothing more devastating than the free will of a human, than the choices they make and the destruction wrought by them. You should know. After all, it was your choices that have ended the world. And apparently, there's still one more for you to make; one more choice, decision, option, fucking act of free will that will either damn them all or save them.

Except you're making it, you've already made it, and it is the world that's refusing to let it be so.

_That's it, my boy. Keep going, and soon…soon you will be mine. _

A sob escapes you, nearly silent in the empty room, and everything begins to crack, splintering around the edges like a bad piece of film. _No,_ you cry inside your mind, _nononononononononoon-_

"Sam? Sam, you here?"

The voice breaks through your panic, so different from the sibilant hissing of Lucifer that it catches your attention. It is a voice you have known your entire life, known better than you've ever known yourself, and its absence from your presence these past days had drilled a hole deep into your heart. But the hissing returns, louder in your ear than before, insistent and demanding and full of promised pain.

_Let go of it all. Let go._

The knife is back in your hands, running down and across your forearms in a monotonous motion, steady and mechanical. You no longer feel it, so deadened to the pain that you are lost in it. You are drowning in blood, lost in the sound of your heartbeat, and filled with an all-encompassing desire to die.

"Sam? Sa-Fuck."

Loud cursing fills your ears and suddenly, someone is touching you, rough palms grabbing the knife from your hands before clamping down on your arms. You blink, broken from the daze as the scent of gunpowder and motor oil fills your nose, bringing tears to your already wet eyes. Fingers grasp your chin gently, lifting your head until you're gazing into hazel eyes darkened by worry and anger.

It's Dean in front of you, big brother in all his leather glory, but deep down, you know it's far too late for you.

"What the hell have you done, Sam?"

And even though a part of you knows that Dean can never understand, can never hope to get why you are sitting here, desperate to end your life, you still try to explain.

"There's a Devil in the corner, Dean, and a Devil in my bed. And even though I'm trying," you lean forward, whispering, "There's still a Devil in my head."

You laugh then, loud and hysterical and lost. You feel yourself pulled forward into an embrace, Dean holding tight as if afraid to let you go, and you cling to him in return. He is a solid anchor in a widening storm and though he cannot save you, he is still something that you have always known. It's too hard to let him go.

Dean whispers into your ear and Lucifer echoes back.

"I'm going to take care of you, Sammy. Everything's going to be okay."

_I'm going to take care of you, Sammy. Everything's going to be okay. _

You wonder if you'll ever be anything but damned.

/

"Well, it's the Devil, don't you think? Come up from Hell tonight. I think he wants to dance with us."

-Lise, "Phantom"

/

End fic.

AN: Please review? I'd love to know what everyone thinks.

All lyrics should be cited but please let me know if I miss anything.


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